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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008566">we sing along in the car</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendly_ficus/pseuds/friendly_ficus'>friendly_ficus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>love songs on repeat [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dimension 20 (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Camping, F/F, Fluff, Growing up is tough, Light Angst, Post-Canon, brief road trip. getting back to my roots in this fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:14:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008566</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendly_ficus/pseuds/friendly_ficus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Graduation in the rear-view mirror, national tour looming around the bend, Fig gets the bright idea that what she and Ayda really need is a trip. Right now. Immediately.<br/>(Scenic lookouts, ruminations on postcards, looking to the future.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ayda Aguefort/Figueroth Faeth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>love songs on repeat [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617757</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we sing along in the car</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>To be honest this isn’t perfectly canon compliant with the real canon but it is compliant with the canon i’ve created in this series. Does that make this an AU. i’m not sure where to draw the distinction. Anyway, you can read this standalone i think it’ll make sense just fine, but if you want more background the other oneshots are there.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   “Three weeks!” Lola reminds her, “No doomsday prophecies have been found for the tour dates, I’ve got a gal down at the archive who looks for those now so we don’t have a repeat of last time. She makes spreadsheets, it’s great stuff. Big fan of the band, which, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hello </span>
  </em>
  <span>of course she is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Uh huh,” Fig leans back against her pillows, staring at the ceiling. She should get up to pull the curtains shut, the sun’s coming in too brightly. It’s gonna get hot in here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I told her she’d better be sure about this and she said she’s absolutely certain! You can consult with your Oracle friend if you want, of course, but we are </span>
  <em>
    <span>going </span>
  </em>
  <span>to have a non-eventful national tour if I have to kill someone to get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “That’s great,” there’s a bird chirping outside the window. Should she get up to shoo the bird away? Yeah. “Listen, Lola, good talk. Productive talk. I gotta go, there’s someone at the door.” What’s a window if not a small door in the wall with a screen in front of it, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Three weeks! No apocalypses! Call me when you need something!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Fig hangs up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   She rolls out of bed, blinking against the glare, and makes shooing motions at the bird. The bird looks at her without a hint of comprehension. It chirps again. Fig tugs the curtains closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Her degree from Aguefort’s is framed on the wall in the upstairs hallway already, next to Kristen’s and Adaine’s and Ragh’s. Jawbone already got the pictures from graduation day developed and is currently deciding on the best way to display them. He’s got a couple of those frames that hold a lot of pictures at once and Fig knows that in the next few days they’ll be hanging up too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The rest of her life stretches out in front of her, neatly penciled in on the big desk calendar she and Ayda share. There’s the tour, there’s whatever adventure they’re gonna get up to while on the tour, there’s Ayda’s research internship, there’s the weekend in November when she’s helping with the talent show for her mom’s scout troop, there’s her nineteenth birthday, there’s. There’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The bird chirps.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>I have to get out of here, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Fig thinks inexplicably, staring at the curtains. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is the rest of my life, I have to get out of here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   It’s not that things are bad. Things are good. They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>really good. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’s happy most of the time, eager for the Sig Figs’ third album to be released, excited to play the music they’ve written. She’s eighteen, she’s a rock star, she’s got great friends and a good family and a girlfriend she adores more than she ever thought possible. Her life is good. Her life is so good, she shouldn’t have to convince herself to be happy. Most of the time, she doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The bird chirps. Fig’s getting really tired of this bird.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>I have to get out of here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   In the bottom drawer of her desk, in the secret compartment that she’s pretty sure only Riz is aware of, she has the scrapbook Sandralynn and Gilear had made for her middle school graduation. She flips through it sometimes; not nostalgic, but maybe a little sad for this girl, who thought life was as good as it was ever gonna get, who thought life was over forever when her horns started coming in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   (When they’d come back from sophomore year, she’d opened it and looked at the kid in those pictures, trying to remember that that face was more than just her fears.)</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>I have to get out of here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   One of the pages is devoted to the camping trip they’d gone on, spring break of her sixth grade year. Fuck, she’d hated camping. Limited crystal service, no one to talk to but her parents and Baxter, none of her friends around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   She reaches for her crystal.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>significant-FIGure: </b>
  <span>hey, how do you feel about camping?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>Ayda: </b>
  <span>My experience with it is very limited, why do you ask?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>significant-FIGure: </b>
  <span>yeah mine too</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>significant-FIGure: </b>
  <span>i have an idea, it’s probably stupid though lol</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>Ayda: </b>
  <span>Your ideas are never stupid. Please share it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>significant-FIGure: </b>
  <span>what if we went camping. like now. like tomorrow. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>Ayda: </b>
  <span>Interesting. Is that enough time to make a travel plan? Wait.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>significant-FIGure: </b>
  <span>waiting</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>Ayda: </b>
  <span>My apologies, I was preventing one of the library patrons from reversing gravity on the third floor. As I was writing, I am interested in this camping trip.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>significant-FIGure: </b>
  <span>they have tent cabins, we wouldn’t need to buy a tent. or i could cast Tiny Hut?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>Ayda: </b>
  <span>Where are you thinking of?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>significant-FIGure: </b>
  <span>Gray Forest Preserve, north of Birchburg. i went there as a kid</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>Ayda: </b>
  <span>Was it an enjoyable experience?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>significant-FIGure: </b>
  <span>no, but you weren’t there. you’d be there this time. aaaaa this is sappy</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>Ayda: </b>
  <span>Ah. Because I would be there, you think it would be a good experience. Because I make you happy.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>significant-FIGure: </b>
  <span>yes</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>Ayda: </b>
  <span>I am open to the idea, we can discuss it more when I am home from the library.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>Ayda:</b>
  <span> If that is okay? I hope that is okay.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>significant-FIGure: </b>
  <span>yeah absolutely 100% have a good shift!!</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Due to inactivity, Ayda has been logged out. Don’t break the PrayerChain!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   In the car on the way out of town, Ayda presents Fig with a book of postcards issued by the Elmville Tourism Bureau. It’s something to do on their trip, at least for when it’s not her turn to drive. She chooses one to humor Ayda, digs a pen out of the glovebox and squints out the window at a few specks moving around in the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It’s got a city map and a cheerful </span>
  <em>
    <span>Find Your New Home in Elmville! </span>
  </em>
  <span>banner at the bottom. Fig doesn’t overthink it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Hey mom— </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Just saw you and Baxter in the sky, chasing down Alex Beaks. Kid’s really excited to be done with baby feathers, huh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   You might not be expecting postcards. I wasn’t expecting to send any. Not sure I’m gonna send this one. I’m thinking of you and everyone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Not sure how long the trip will be, but we’ll be back in Elmville before the tour starts. Don’t start putting together search parties!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <strike>
    <em>
      <span>Do you even remember</span>
    </em>
  </strike>
  <em>
    <span> Never mind.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Love, Fig</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You’re frowning,” Ayda points out as they pass the sign for the city limits. “Are you unhappy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “No. Yes. I don’t know.” Fig leans against the window for a moment, turns so the air conditioner hits her face. “Not with you. I’m glad you’re here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Seventy miles later, once they’ve switched drivers, Fig realizes that she’s not unhappy. She’s... she feels a little lost, and not because they just made their way through an interchange that CrystalMaps was essentially useless at navigating. Ayda opens a bag of trail mix and hands her a few pieces of papaya to chew on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You were grinding your teeth,” she offers, when Fig looks over at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It’s not a long trip; eleven hours with stops, and it only takes that long because Ayda’s fairly scrupulous with her ‘stay within ten miles of the speed limit’ rule. They get to the campground an hour before sunset, get a map from the ranger station and leave the car in the parking lot, and check in on their tent cabin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It’s quiet out here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I know we could’ve teleported,” Fig says, as they walk along the meadow trail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   All around them the light of day is fading, turning the high grass and wildflowers slowly from oranges and golds to softer grays and blues.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I just wanted—” the rest of the sentence refuses to come. She doesn’t know what she wants, not for the rest of her life. Instead, she takes Ayda’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   With the other hand, Ayda draws a tiny glyph in the air and the halo of gnats they’d both been collecting disperses, pushed three feet back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “When you brought up this idea, you mentioned coming here when you were a child. What was that like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I hated it,” Fig replies immediately, because she had. She’d been eleven, she remembers, because Carolyn Reign had invited her to her own eleventh birthday. It had a theme; Carolyn was big on themed parties, even as it started seeming uncool to have them. It had a theme but Fig can’t quite remember what it was, now, only that it had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>the </span>
  </em>
  <span>event of spring break and she’d had to miss it to go on a family camping trip. Crystal service was bad and her friends hadn’t remembered to text her during the party anyway and she’d sat in the tent and tried not to cry all evening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Stupid reasons, but they seemed important. I missed someone’s birthday party and I was angry about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “That isn’t stupid. I would be very sorry to miss a friend’s birthday.” That’s true, not that Ayda would lie about it. She’s very big on celebrating her friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You’re amazing,” Fig says, and by the flickering light of Ayda’s hair and wings she sees her blush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “If you were unhappy, why did you want to come back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I—I wanted to get away. I’m not unhappy,” she hastens to reassure her girlfriend. “I’m happy, I’m happy all the time. But I don’t know what’s gonna happen next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Ayda tilts her head, contemplating. “You’re uncertain about the future?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I didn’t even know there was gonna </span>
  <em>
    <span>be </span>
  </em>
  <span>a future. Kalvaxus and the Nightmare King and the Night Y—anyway. You know me, I didn’t make </span>
  <em>
    <span>plans. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And now everybody keeps asking me what I’m gonna do next. I don’t know, it’s stupid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Ayda stops walking and tugs Fig’s hand so they’re facing each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Thank you for telling me this,” she says. “You are very good at being confident. I know it is difficult to talk about things that make you feel vulnerable. I do not have an answer for this scenario.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Fig opens her mouth to say that Ayda doesn’t have to, she’s not obligated to do anything, she doesn’t have to fix her problems, but she keeps talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “However. I am here with you, and I love you, and you are not alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And then Ayda pulls her into a hug and Fig shakes a little bit, in her arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   A gentle breeze rustles the grass. After a while, they both turn and start back in the direction of the cabins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Fig gets up in the middle of the night, slides out of the sleeping bags they’re sandwiching together. The postcard is a shot of the sky from the Elmville County Observatory, constellations you can see in winter outlined in white:</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Gilear—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Remember when I was eleven and we went on that camping trip and mom wanted us to hike all the time but you sprained your ankle on the first day and Baxter had to carry you the rest of the time and Carolyn Reign’s birthday party was on the third day and I was sad and you braided my hair and we had s’mores that night </span>
  </em>
  <strike>
    <em>
      <span>and everything was simple what happened to us what happened to things feeling simple why didn’t you warn me about life why didn’t you say it would be messy?</span>
    </em>
  </strike>
  <em>
    <span> And you woke me up in the middle of the night—there was a meteor shower and you wanted to watch it together.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   There’s no meteor shower tonight and the cabin has walls. Kind of walls. There’s canvas.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <strike>
    <em>
      <span>Do you remember when you stopped braiding my hair</span>
    </em>
  </strike>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Hope you’re okay, be careful about your ankles.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Love, Fig</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   She sighs, stuffing the postcard into a pocket in her pack. Ayda shifts a little, rolling over in her sleep, and Fig crawls back under the top layer of sleeping bag and blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I still don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispers, watching Ayda sleep. “But I’m glad you’re here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   In the morning they get up and eat breakfast, chomping on cereal bars and drinking water. They could have anything in the world right now, is the thing, because they could be anywhere. It’s good, somehow, that they don’t just teleport away. Fig isn’t sure why it feels good, but she’s hungry enough for three cereal bars and wants absolutely nothing else. There are a few other people emerging from their cabins to blink in the morning light, but it’s early in the season so nothing’s swamped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What do you want to do?” Ayda asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanna do, I guess.” Fig winces a little, hand coming up to scratch at the base of one of her horns. “I didn’t really plan that far ahead, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   They spread the map out on the nearest flat surface and look it over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “There are no waterfalls on Leviathan,” Ayda offers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Ayda doesn’t talk about Leviathan much, Fig’s found. She talks about the people there sometimes, about Garthy, but not about growing up. It’s... it’s a sensitive topic. Fig knows a thing or two about avoiding those. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Then let’s see all of them! There are,” she checks the map, “six big ones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Seven,” Ayda says, tapping a note at the edge of the map. “That one’s two-tiered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Do those count as separate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “They have different names.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “That tracks, let’s do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   At the first waterfall, Fig digs another postcard out. It’s a shot of the sign for Aguefort’s, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dragon-free for three years running! </span>
  </em>
  <span>written across the bottom. Huh. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span> Adaine— </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   do you know how </span>
  </em>
  <span>loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>waterfalls are?? Remember that time Ayda opened the ocean into hell when you guys came to get us? Think of that on a smaller scale. (Ayda says this is around 30% as loud, but it varies from where you’re standing so our measurements aren’t perfect.) Anyway I wasn’t joking we’re really doing the camping thing, it’s been pretty good so far. </span>
  </em>
  <strike>
    <em>
      <span>Last night I had a dream about the forest of the</span>
    </em>
  </strike>
  <em>
    <span> How’s the investigation training workshop thing? Maybe that’s a dumb question haha, I’ll see you in person and you can tell me about it then.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Love, Fig</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   At the third waterfall of the three they’re trying to get to today, Fig makes a recording on her crystal while Ayda reads a commemorative plaque.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   She wants—she doesn’t know what she wants for the rest of her life, but Ayda’s haloed by mist and steam and they’re both getting soaked through and it’s cool enough here that there’s still ice in the river, even with the summer sun. The clip is thirty seconds long, Ayda bent over the plaque with a look of concentration, panning up to watch a thousand tons of water rush over the edge. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Are we like that? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Fig wonders, watching it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is this what life is like, nothing trying to kill us and the world not ending? Will we be tourists?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   It doesn’t seem so scary. It doesn’t seem so bad, so unknowable, doesn’t seem like it’s staring her down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Ayda turns and sticks out her tongue, lets out a shriek of laughter when Fig scoops up a handful of cold water and splashes it at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The second night they swing by the camp store and pick up the approximately twelve things they’d forgotten to bring. A boy recognizes Fig—she’s never been recognized like this before, with a kid looking up at her all hopeful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Are you Fig Faeth?” he asks, eyes wide. “Here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Fig smiles, tries to sound nice while still sounding cool for this half-orc. There’s a pin on his backpack that she notices when Ayda subtly points it out, crossed drumsticks behind a drawing of Gorgug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Yeah I am,” she says. “Of Fig and the Sig Figs fame. Gorgug’s not, though, sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Gulrosh! Where’d you get off to?” a woman calls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Your mom?” Fig asks him, knowing the </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m caught! </span>
  </em>
  <span>look on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You should answer her,” Ayda tells him. “You don’t want her to be worried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The boy huffs, but nods. “Here, Ma!” he calls back, and she comes around the shelf, looking relieved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Did you make some friends?” she asks, smiling. “I’m Suvri Dulcin, this is my son Gulrosh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Ayda Aguefort,” Ayda introduces herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Fig Faeth,” Fig says, shaking the woman’s hand. Her eyes widen in recognition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “From the Sig Figs? Well, who could’ve thought we’d meet you out here! We’re seeing you on tour next month!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Is this what life is like? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Fig wonders, as Suvri invites them to share a campfire tonight. She shares the story of Gorgug coming up with </span>
  <em>
    <span>My Van is a Boat </span>
  </em>
  <span>and meets Gulrosh’s older sibling Motha, who’d been left in charge of the fire while the rest of their family went to get s’mores supplies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It’s a good story; at the parties she goes to for Lola it gets a few laughs, but here at the campfire it gets smiles and questions and prompts stories from the family. They have a lot of advice for staying in the forest, apparently this is a yearly tradition. Fig apologizes for intruding, but it gets waved off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “It’s cool to meet you both,” Motha mutters, poking the fire with a stick. “I really liked your second album.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   When at last they break away from the campfire, Ayda’s explained the time all the books in the mystery section of the library turned invisible—it’s one of the things she’s written a paper on, if the categorization of the books affected the potency of the spell—and they’ve both been regaled with half a dozen other family stories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It was nice, Fig thinks it was nice, and she tries not to be jealous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “They were nice,” Ayda says as they spread out the sleeping bags. “I found myself, ah, upset? That I did not have, well. Traditions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Yeah,” Fig sighs. “We could do something every year, if we want? We could make one up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I like that idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Before turning in, Fig sits next to their battery-powered lantern and tears another postcard out of the book. It’s the skyline of Bastion City, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Visit Beautiful Bastion City </span>
  </em>
  <span>written across the top of the card.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span> Gorgug—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Met some fans of ours tonight (very much fans of </span>
  </em>
  <span>yours </span>
  <em>
    <span>in particular—did not know the cell tower story was so popular?) Writing this down to remember their CrystalScope usernames; if we see them on the next stream we should give a shoutout.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   @iwoulddieforgftsf and @leftdrumstick</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   If Lola’s bothering you about me not being around right now just don’t pick up the crystal. I’ll be back pretty soon. What do we think about waterfalls I’ve got some ideas.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Love, Fig</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You like the postcards,” Ayda says sleepily, as Fig clicks off the lantern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Yeah,” she smiles and shuffles beneath the covers to get under Ayda’s chin, one tattooed arm coming up securely around her.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title for this fic comes from “We All Love the Same Songs” by Lake Street Dive.<br/>if you came away from this with, “what’s the plot here?” i also don’t really know. growing up is hard to do? it takes time, even when you have people who love you? the author didn’t get to go see the waterfalls in her nearby national park this year and is sad about it?<br/>tentatively marking this series complete, as this is the last of the figayda fics i have written/outlined! that doesn’t mean i’ll never return to the ship, but i feel pretty good about where this collection is at. very weird trying to write these characters navigating what is already a very weird time in real life; the addition of fame and an astonishing awareness of your own mortality would make it tough to be a teen imo. it’s already hard when you’re figuring out how to be an adult and who you want to be now imagine you went to aguefort where it seems like near-sunnydale levels of danger at times. i just wonder how the perspective would be skewed.<br/>i hope this fic (and the series as a whole) made you happy! i hope it was fun to read! leave a comment and let me know what you think :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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